CHAPTER VIII
IN SILK ATTIRE
The shopping the next day was something wonderful. Daffodil was quite sure the fairies must have had a hand in it. And such beautiful things, she fairly held her breath over them.
"But, madam, when am I to wear these lovely garments? For mother says I grow so fast, and there is no one to take them afterward."
Betty Wharton laughed many times at the fascinating simplicity of the child.
Then she took her to the mantua-makers, where she was measured, and where she hardly understood a word of what they were saying, but between whiles played with a beautiful yellow cat, who sat on a silken cushion and purred his delight at the touch of the gentle hands.
"Now, you are to come home to dinner with me."
"Did uncle say I might? For mother told me to do nothing without his permission."
"Oh, you darling infant!" She squeezed the slim little body that, after all, was plump enough. It was shocking for a young person to be fat in those days.
"I will make it all right with him."
Miss Wharton's house was much smaller. A square sort of hall, with oddly pretty furnishing, a parlor and a dining-room off it, and all were filled with curiosities that were family heirlooms, beautiful things, for Miss Wharton abhorred ugliness and despised horrid Chinese idols. The dinner was very dainty, and Daffodil wondered how she could feel so much at home.
"And to-morrow we will go out again, but we will drive around, and you shall see the city. What means that sober look?"
"Oh, madam, I shall feel so spoiled with beauty, that I don't know how I shall content myself to go back to Pittsburg;" and her eyes swam in a soft lustre that was almost tears.
"Perhaps we shall not let you go back;" laughingly.
Jane came around for her in the afternoon, and she said, "We missed you so much at dinner time. And ever so many bundles have come for you."
"And I've been so full of pleasure, that any more would run over. Oh, madam, how can I thank you!"
"By coming again. I'll call for you to-morrow."
They walked home, past pretty gardens all a-bloom with summer richness. Daffodil was so full of delight she wanted to dance. In her room was one large box – that was the new hat. A rather fancy straw, and she had not seen it trimmed. It had a wreath of fine roses inside, and larger ones on the outside, and beautiful wide strings of some gauzy stuff, that in warm weather were to float around, but in a high wind they were tied under the chin.
And there was a dainty pair of red slippers, laced across the top, with a red cord fastened diamond-wise, and a pair of black shoes. They were not "boots" then. These came up almost to the ankles, and were laced across with ribbon and tied in a bow. There were some imported stockings, but Mrs. Jarvis declared she had never seen such pretty home-knit ones as the little girl wore, that looked quite as if they were of silk, and the clocks were perfect.
In another package was a beautiful scarf, with threads of gold in the border, and some fine handkerchiefs.
"Mother has some at home, two that have wide borders of beautiful lace, that she made herself. And bibs that you wear over the neck of your frocks. And she is making a lovely skirt for me, that is lace and needlework, and I am to have it when I am quite grown up and go out to tea."
Barbe Carrick had begun to think of her daughter's marriage, and as there was but little ready money, outfits were made at home, and packed away against the time. For most mothers counted on it, even thought of grandchildren.
Daffodil had enough to talk about that evening. Mr. Bartram went out, and for an hour Dilly had her guardian quite to herself. Then two gentlemen came in, and the tired little girl went to bed.
About ten the next morning a pony chaise stopped at the door. Jules came out and took the reins, and Miss Wharton stepped lightly down and was greeted by Mrs. Jarvis.
"I have come for the little girl," she said, "having her guardian's permission. I am going to show her the sights, and make her sick of Pittsburg. We want her here. Why, I never supposed I had such a motherly streak in my nature, or I would have wedded and had a houseful. Or else the child has some bewitchment about her. Jane, put on her new hat and the scarf. The frocks will be here in a day or two."
Daffodil did look bewitching as she stepped into the chaise. Miss Wharton was quite used to driving. They went along Chestnut Street first, past the stores, then looked at some of the old places that were to be historical. Mistress Betty told over many of the war adventures and the coming of the good news.
"And I remember that," said Daffodil. "Grandad was angry about it. He still believes England will get us back sometime."
"Yet your father went to war. How did he take that?"
"I was so little then. I think I didn't know much about him until we heard he would come home. Then I really began to remember. I didn't like him so much at first, and I went to great-grandfather for comfort. Oh, madam, he was so sweet and dear. And when M. de Ronville came, and I put him in the old chair, it seemed almost as if grandfather had come back. And I liked him at once. Now he is to be my uncle, we have settled that."
Then they went out on the beautiful road, where the Shippens and several of the old families had their capacious estates, and their large old mansions. Oh, how lovely and orderly everything looked, the picture of peace and plenty.
"Some day we will go over to Valley Forge. But it is nearing noon, and I must not starve you. I know of a nice place, where ladies often go at noon, and you do not need to have a man tagging after you. Start up, Dolly!" to the pony.
They came back to busy streets. There were Quakers at Pittsburg, but they did not seem so pronounced as here. And there were such fine-looking men, in their drab suits, widebrimmed hats, and they wore knee-breeches and silk stockings, quite like the world's people. Here and there one nodded to Miss Wharton. The elegance and harmony appealed to the child, without her understanding why.
They paused at a house set back a little from the street, with a courtyard of blooming flowers. There was a wide covered porch and a trellis work wreathed with vines. A wide door opened into a spacious hall.
A young colored boy came out to them.
"Pomp," Miss Wharton said, "take the pony and give him a little feed and water, not too much, mind now. He wants a little rest, so do we."
Pompey assisted them out with a flourish, and led the pony up a side way. They walked to the porch, raised by three steps, and Miss Wharton was greeted warmly by several parties.
"Here is a table," said Mrs. Mason. "My dear creature, I haven't seen you in an age. Have you been getting married, and is this his daughter? Did you take him for the sake of the child?"
"Alas! I have not been so fortunate! The child has both parents. And she has just come from Pittsburg. You know, M. de Ronville went out there and brought back – well, it is his grandniece, I suppose – Miss Daffodil Carrick."
The waiter, another colored servant – they were quite favorites in the city for their obsequious politeness – placed chairs for them.
"Pittsburg! Why, that's way at the West in the Indian countries, on the way to Ohio, I believe. What a long journey. And how is M. de Ronville?"
"Rather improved by his journey, I think. Now, Daffodil, what will you have? You ought to be hungry."
"You choose for me, madam;" in a low tone, and with a tint of exquisite coloring.
It kept wavering over the sweet face, for she felt somehow that she was being observed. She wished she had on one of the pretty frocks, but Jane had ironed out this white one, and Mrs. Jarvis had found her a sash. But she was not accustomed to much consideration of herself, and she was hungry. The ladies were prettily dressed, some of them in rather quakerish colors and they had beautiful fans and parasols. It was quite a meeting-place, where they exchanged bits of news, a little gossip, and had most excellent tea.
"Carrick isn't a French name," said Madam Neville, rather critically.
"No. She is French on the mother's side. M. de Ronville's father and her grandfather were Huguenot exiles in the old times. He is her guardian now, and there is some property, enough for a town, I believe. And you know the French once had possession of most of that country."
Betty Wharton knew that would settle her status at once, more decisively than her beauty.
Then some other ladies, having finished their tea, came over for a little chat. Had she been to see the new play? For "The Academy of Polite Science" seemed rather above an ordinary theatre, and Philadelphia had swung back to amusements. Was she going to Mrs. Chew's card party this evening?
"Oh, yes. She wouldn't miss it for anything."
"What a beautiful child!" whispered another. "Will she live here in town?"
"Oh, she is only on a visit now."
"She's too nice to be wasted on such an outlandish place as Pittsburg, where they do nothing but make whiskey."
The pony came round, and the ladies said their good-bys. Since the closing of the war, indeed, in gratitude for French assistance, much honor had been paid to our noble allies.
That evening M. de Ronville went to his card club. But Daffodil had Mrs. Jarvis for audience, and in return heard many wonderful things about the great city.
If Daffodil had not been so utterly simple-hearted and had so little self-consciousness, it might have proved a rather dangerous ordeal for her. In a few days she certainly was the light of the house. Even Mr. Bartram yielded to her charm, though he fancied girls of that age were seldom interesting: either painfully shy, or overbold. She was neither. She seemed to radiate a pervasive atmosphere of happiness, her smile was so full of light and joy; and her sweet voice touched the springs of one's heart.
M. de Ronville had never met with any such experience. A shy young man, he had kept much to his own compatriots. Then he had devoted himself to business, with a vague idea that when he had made a fortune he would go back to France, that had grown much more liberal in matters of religion. But he had become warmly interested in the new country, and especially the city.
He had been pleased with the household at Pittsburg, the plain sensible soldier, who was making an excellent citizen, but the two ladies he found most interesting. It was golden-crowned Daffodil that stirred his heart in a new fashion, and made him feel how much had been lost out of his life. And now he had her. A sweet, dazzling, bird-like creature, that gave the house an altogether new aspect.
She went with Jane to call on Mrs. Craig. The daughter was well married, and had four small children, though their house was rather simple.
"And have you cried yourself to sleep with homesickness?" asked Mrs. Craig. "I've heard it is rather quiet in the big house where you are, with only a few grown people. True, Mr. de Ronville is like a father or, perhaps, a grandfather would be nearer, and you have been used to elderly men."
"Oh, madam, it is delightful. I like him so much. I did at home, or I never could have come. And Mrs. Jarvis is nice and pleasant, and tells me what is good manners for little girls, and Jane spoils me by waiting on me."
"Madam, indeed!" laughed Mrs. Craig. "Why, you make me feel as if I belonged to the quality!"
"They call the grown-up ladies that, the elder ones I mean. And there is one who has been so good to me, Miss Wharton, who bought my new clothes, and tells me what to wear, and things to say that are the fashion here. I think we have not much fashion at home. She takes me out, and, oh, there are so many things to see. And now uncle has hired a pony, and I ride with him in the morning, and we all went to a play, where the people made believe they were part of a story, and I was charmed, for it seemed so real. And there was a fine concert, I never heard so many instruments. And going to church is quite grand. I wish we had a lovely church at home. Oh, I hardly have a moment, but I do think of them all, and how wild Felix will be over all I shall have to tell him."
"I'm afraid you won't want to go back."
"Not go back to mother and all the others? Why, every day makes it one day nearer;" and the lovely light in her face showed she was not forgetting them.
"I am going before real cold weather. It would be too hard a journey to take in winter. But I find it very pleasant, too."
"And the stores are so full of beautiful things. People must be very rich, they spend so much money."
"It is a big town, and there are many people."
"And one can't help being joyous and happy." She looked as if she could dance or fly. "And uncle likes me best to be gay, and I should be ungrateful to mope when so much is being done for me."
"Yes, that is true."
"And next week Miss Wharton is going to take me to a grand out-of-door party of young people. Mrs. Pemberton came and gave uncle the invitation for me, and he has promised to come in the evening to see us, and to fetch me home."
"Oh, but they're on the Schuylkill! Well, you are going among the quality. You'll never do for Pittsburg again."
"But I shall do for father and mother, and I shall have such fun hearing grandad scold about all the doings, and say that I am spoiled, and not worth a pewter platter. And then he will hug me so tightly that it will almost squeeze the breath out of me."
She laughed so merrily and her face was in a glow of mirth and mischief. Then Jane came for her, though she was quick about learning the city streets. But M. de Ronville thought her too precious to be trusted out alone, though now the town was safe enough.
CHAPTER IX
WITH THE EYES OF YOUTH
The place was like a picture by some fine artist, and the midsummer coloring, the shade of the tall trees, the great beds of flowers made it lovely, indeed. There was a space of greensward that ran down to the river, then a series of steps up the terrace, where a large level lawn with another row of steps led and a wide porch, with fluted columns. The house was large, and hospitable of aspect. Now it was filled with graceful figures, flitting to and fro, of all ages, it seemed. For it was quite a notable occasion.
There were two Pemberton sons, one married; then Miss Bessy, who was eighteen; Mary of sixteen, and Belinda, a growing girl, whose birthday was the same as Bessy's, though there was five years between them. This is why young people are asked to the birthday party. And the mothers of the girls, the brothers, and other young men. The tables will be set out on the lawn, three of them.
Bessy was to be married early in the autumn, and lovers in those days were in no wise abashed by their engagement. Mr. Morris hovered about his betrothed, young Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton had not outlived their honeymoon. There were other engaged couples, and quite a merry crowd of children.
Betty Wharton glanced over the group, as they ascended the steps. Not a girl was as handsome as her protégée. They had come in a coach, and the child had just a light scarf thrown over her shoulders. Her frock was of some white crapy stuff, the bodice cut square in the neck after the fashion of the day, and edged with a bit of lace; the short waist defined with a soft blue silk sash. Her curls were caught up high on her head, with a blue bow, and every movement seemed to shake off a shower of gold. Where the chin melted in her neck, and the neck sloped to her shoulder, there were exquisite lines.
"That's the little girl from Pittsburg," exclaimed Anton Wetherell. "I didn't suppose they could raise anything like that. She's not so little, either; why, she must be well on to fifteen. Some connection of that old French lawyer, de Ronville. I wonder if he means to make her his heir? I fancy there's a good deal of money."
"Miss Wharton has been making much of her, it seems, and she isn't the one to fall into a mistake."
The elder ladies greeted her cordially. There was such a charming simplicity about her and her enjoyment of everything was infectious. She gravitated to the younger girls, and Belinda was really fascinated with her. They played some games, and she was so ready to assent to what they proposed, so frank to admit her ignorance of some things, that they were all ready to help her and explain. Presently they sat on the grass in a little ring, and asked her about Pittsburg. Was it a great city?
"Oh, you would think it very queer," she said laughingly. "Only the rivers are beautiful, and the hills, and the woods over opposite. But the people" – then she flushed a little, but she was too honest to embellish – "well, they are Scotch, and Irish, and English, and a few from the East, but now those folks are going out to Ohio. And – "
"But you're French," said one of the girls. "Though I thought all French people were dark."
"Mother and grandmere have beautiful dark eyes and hair. So has my little brother Felix. But my father has blue eyes, and I don't know where the yellow hair came from. That was why my mother called me Daffodil."
"What an odd, pretty name. And your hair is beautiful, like silk. Does it curl that way without – "
For little girls and big ones, too, had their hair put up in curl papers, or the hairdresser used tongs.
"Oh, yes, it curls naturally, and tangles, too. When I was little I wanted it cut off, there were such awful pulls. But mother wouldn't, because father was away soldiering, and when he came home he wouldn't hear to it. One grandfather used to call me Yellowtop."
The nearest girl was petting one of the soft, silky curls. Another said, "Can you talk French? I'm studying it at school. It's awful hard and queer."
"Oh, yes. You see, I learned to talk in both languages. Then I had a lovely great-grandfather, who lived to be almost a hundred, and he taught me to read quite well. There are some French Acadians, who come in to see us now and then. But their speech has been mixed up so much. I've been reading a little with uncle. After grandfather died, I almost forgot."
"And are there fine stores and churches, and do you have plays, and entertainments, and parties?"
"Oh, no. It's queer and plain, quite rough, though now they are making nice streets, and people are spinning and weaving. Some of the women make beautiful lace. There's always a May party and a dance; and then a time when the new year begins, and tea drinkings, and some birthdays are kept. No, you wouldn't like it, after such a beautiful city."
"Oh, you won't want to go back!"
"Mother and all my people are there," she answered simply. "But if I had always lived in a beautiful city like this, I wouldn't want to."
By this time the tables were arranged, and they were summoned to the repast. Several young lads had joined the company, and Mary took the head of the children's table. The lawn was a picturesque sight. Afterward some lanterns were strung about, but it was clear and moonlight, which added to the beauty of the scene, and presently dancing began. There was much rambling around.
Miss Wharton found her, and asked if she was having a good time. She had been dancing with two of the boys. "And Mr. Wetherell wants the pleasure of dancing with the young lady from Pittsburg;" laughing.
"But I am not a real young lady. And I don't know all the dances;" in a hesitating tone.
"You do it at your own risk, Anton," Betty said to the young man. "You have been warned."
"I'll take the risk."
He piloted her through very skilfully. Then young Mr. Pemberton asked her. She met Mr. Bartram in this quadrille, and he talked to her afterward. She wished he would ask her to dance, but he seemed very much occupied with the older girls. And presently she spied out uncle de Ronville, and went over to the step of the porch, where he was sitting in a chair. He felt very proud of her. She was so full of enjoyment she fairly bubbled over with delight, as she detailed the pleasures.
"And we must be thinking of going home. That is one of the penalties of old age."
"Oh," with a kind of riant sweetness in her voice, "if you could go back halfway, and I could come on halfway, wouldn't it be delightful! But I get sleepy often in the evening, not like to-night;" as an afterthought. "I suppose that comes of living in a country place, where people go to bed at nine! But you sometimes go to bed quite late."
Yes, if they could meet halfway! Oh, what a foolish old man!
It has been a delightful evening, and Miss Wharton joins them. "Daffodil, you have had honors enough to turn your head. M. de Ronville, are we spoiling her?"
He gave her a fatherly look, and taking her soft little hand in his, they rose together.
"Will you go home in our coach?" he asked of Miss Wharton.
"Very glad, indeed, my dear sir, I am rather tired. Our party began early."
There were a good many adieus to make, and some very flattering invitations for Daffodil. They put Mistress Betty down at her own door, and when they reached home M. de Ronville gave her a tender good-night.
"It was splendid, Jane," she said as the finery was being removed. "And I danced with several of the young men. I didn't quite know how, but I thought of Norry's stories about the fairy dances in the moonlight, and I guess the real moonlight helped."
"I don't believe there was as pretty a girl among them all," declared Jane admiringly.
It was late when Mr. Bartram came in, and he had enjoyed himself as well.
But it was not all dissipation. There were evenings when Daffodil read French to her host, and he corrected any faulty pronunciation. At other times it was the newspaper. She had such a clear young voice, and she did everything with such charming cheerfulness. The rides with him in the morning were a delight. And though her figure had not rounded out, there was something exquisite in the virginal lines. She did not realize herself that she was a big girl now, so gradual was the change, and she had been a little girl all her life to those at home. He thought it was the French blood, as he could recall the girls of his youth, with their pretty deference, but it is the little admixture of Irish that makes her so winsome and frank.
Yet there were times when Daffodil was surprised at herself, and the strange feelings and stronger emotions that would flash across her. Was it the wider life, the variety of people and incident, the deeper and more comprehensive tone of the talk, and the new pleasures of the higher type?
There was no special dividing line in those days. Little girls wore ankle-length frocks, so the tucks were let out as they grew taller. After a little the hair was put up high with a pretty comb discarded by an older sister. When she had a lover, the next younger girl came to the fore.
"If the child was two years older I might make an excellent match for her," thought Betty Wharton. "But she isn't thinking about lovers or admiration. She will be very lovely presently, when she knows how to use those heart-breaking eyes and that dangerous smile. When she comes again – of course, it would be a sin to bury such a girl alive in that dozy, drowsy old Pittsburg!"
The days flew by so rapidly. Letters did not come frequently, postage was high, and there was a sort of secret faith in most people that things were going on well, according to the old adage that "no news was good news." But when a rare letter came, she cried over it secretly for two or three days, and was rather grave, but she thought it ungracious not to be bright and happy when so much was being done for her. Mrs. Craig was planning to go before the autumnal rains set in, and she took it for granted that it was her place to return Daffodil.
The child had been talking this over one afternoon, and a flood of home love had overwhelmed her. Mrs. Jarvis had an old friend to supper and to spend the evening, Jane had gone out, and M. de Ronville had gone to a sort of sociable dinner, with some of the citizens who were interested in the library project. It had proved a rather lonesome evening, and she had really longed for home. She wandered about aimlessly, and presently settled herself in the corner of the vine-covered porch, and yielded to the beauty and fragrance of the night. Everything had a richer aspect and meaning to her. It was moonlight again. The tall trees seemed outlined in silver, and the flower-beds were transformed into fairy haunts. Only a few stars were out, they were larger and more golden than usual. She drank in the honeyed fragrance all about her, and it seemed a land of enchantment.
Some one came into the library, but did not make a light. She heard M. de Ronville's low, but clear-toned, voice.
"I have wanted to talk this matter over with you. There need be no hurry, one or two years here will answer. You see, I am getting to be an old man. Latterly I have come to long for some one of my own, that I could go down the valley of life with, and who would care to make the journey more cheerful. You have been almost like a son to me. I should like you to be that, indeed. And this child has grown very dear to me. To think of you both going on here in the old house when I have left it, would give me my heart's desire. She is lovely, she is sweet, and has a most admirable temper. Then those people are in comfortable circumstances, and of the better class. You know it is a trait of our nation to be deeply interested in the marriage of our children, to advise, often to choose for them, with our wider experience."
"But she is such a child, eager, unformed, and I have thought of some one, companionable, with a wider education – "
That was Mr. Bartram's voice.
"We can remedy all that. I could have her here, and I think she is an apt scholar. She is well up in French, and that is quite in demand now. She could be trained in music, she has a sweet voice. And she is very graceful. If you could see the indifferent manners of most people in that queer, backward town, you would wonder at her refinement, her nice adjustment. Her mother, the Duvernay people, are high-bred, yet in no wise pretentious."
There was a brief silence, then the young man began.
"Mr. de Ronville, you have been the best and kindest friend a young man could have. I owe you a great deal. But I would not like to bind myself by any such promise. I have an old-fashioned notion that one must or should choose for one's self, and another perhaps foolish one, that I should like to win the woman I marry, not have her take me because some one else desired it. She would naturally be impressionable – "
All this talk was about her. She just realized it. She had listened as if some one was reading out of a book. She started now, and light and fleet as a deer flashed across the porch and up to her own room, in a queer, frightened state, hardly knowing what it meant, and yet vaguely suspicious. She had not been especially drawn to Mr. Bartram. He treated her quite as a child, sometimes teased, and evoked quick, mirthful replies, at others passed her by indifferently. All her experience had been with boys, and men of middle age, and she had no idea of lovers. Did uncle de Ronville mean that she should come here and love, and then be married to Mr. Bartram!
She was suddenly and unreasonably homesick for ugly old Pittsburg. The shops and the drives, the gayeties and delights, had lost their charm. If she could fly home to her mother's arms! If she could sit on her father's knee and have him hug her to his heart, or even grandad's rough love. And Norah, and Felix, and grandfather Bradin, who took her out in his boat, and sang funny sea-going songs. No, she couldn't come here to live!
Yet it was curious the next morning. Everything seemed exactly the same. Uncle said, "Will you get ready for your ride?" in that gentle, courtly manner, and they went off together. Mr. Bartram had been very quiet, she had hardly ventured to raise her eyes to him.
Oh, maybe she had fallen asleep and dreamed it.
Mary Pemberton came over early. A host of girls were going to have a picnic up the river, and Belinda wanted her. They would bring her back by five in the afternoon. It was to be just a girls' party, only her brother would be there to see that Darius, the black servitor, attended to them properly.
It was a bright, jolly day, with swinging, and a gipsy campfire, playing tag and telling riddles, and even running races. And she was so joyous talking it all over that evening, M. de Ronville felt he could never let her go. Could he persuade her to stay? Young people were fond of pleasure, and after this Pittsburg would be dull.
All the week the desire in Daffodil's heart had grown into absolute longing to go home. Yet she cares so much for them here: Uncle, Mrs. Jarvis, Miss Wharton, and a number of other people. But how could the return be planned. No one had suggested such a thing.
Providence comes to her assistance, opening the way in the shape of Mrs. Craig, who stays to supper, as she has a matter to lay before M. de Ronville. And that is, that she has finished her visit, and desires to return before the autumnal rains set in, while the going is still good. And she will take Daffodil.
"I am afraid we can't spare her," returned M. de Ronville. "She has become such a part of our household."
"But I must go home sometime," said the child with a quick gasp in her breath.
"Are you tired of us?"
"Tired!" She came and placed her arm caressingly over his shoulder. "Oh, I have never been tired, but there is mother and – the rest," with a tremble in her voice, while her eyes had the softness of coming tears. "Think how long I have been away!"
"And they've had many a heartache, I dare say. I don't know how they could spare you long. Of course, where your daughters marry it is a different thing. You resign yourself to that," said Mrs. Craig.
"When did you think of starting?"
"Well, so as to miss the equinoctial." People pinned their faith to its coming regularly in those days. "And perhaps no one would care to take such a journey if they had no need, and she couldn't come alone."